


The Third Video

by DaringlyDomestic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-TFP, season 4 fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:51:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9379259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: Sherlock is surprised to arrive home and find a third ominous disk waiting for him. What more could Mary have to say?





	

Sherlock strolls through the crowds passing down the busy street. Apparently, strolling is something he does now. The thought makes him chuckle. He turns the corner and speeds his pace. A few more blocks and he’ll be home. Every few seconds, a passerby turns to stare at him. That’s odd. He does get recognized occasionally but this seems quite excessive. He does a quick physical check. Yes, he’s good, remembered all the proper clothes on all the correct parts and everything.

As he rounds the corner onto Baker Street, a sweet jaunty melody echoes off the buildings. Curiousity piqued, Sherlock looks around for the source. Classical music is a strange choice for most people. The street is packed but not a single person is humming. Strange.

He fishes his key out of his pocket and almost flattens Mrs. Hudson, who was just getting ready to go to the shops.

“Sherlock, dear, mind the door! It’s nice to hear you humming again. It’s been ages. Anyway, I’m just popping to the shops. Shouldn’t be long.”

Sherlock stops the door just in time. Ah, it was him humming in the streets. Interesting. He smiles apologetically.

“Get biscuits.”

He grabs the banister and starts up the stairs.

“Not your housekeeper!”

He grins but doesn’t reply. Sherlock almost makes it into his flat, almost.

“Sherlock! I forgot. The postman came by while you were out. I put the mail on the kitchen table. I couldn’t find anywhere else since you refuse to get rid of all that clutter. I mean honestly! If you would only let me clean once in a while, say every two weeks, then there would be a place to put received mail and tea trays and the like. I don’t know… 

“Mrs. Hudson!”

Sherlock shatters her out of her monologue.

“Thank you for the mail.”

He says with finality as he shuts the door. He leans heavily against it for a moment. He loves Mrs. Hudson dearly but she can go on.

Slipping off his Belstaff and scarf, he heads to the kitchen. Might as well make a cup of tea first. He fills the kettle and waits. He bounces impatiently from foot to foot. _A watched pot never boils you know._ Ugh! John’s in his head now. Wonderful.

Sherlock turns his back on the kettle and notices the small pile of mail. He might as well get it sorted: bill, bill, past due notice, advert, advert, client request, bank statement, letter from Mummy, advert, client request…

The last envelope is padded and a familiar bolt of dread settles in his stomach. He drops the rest of the mail back onto the table and goes to sit in his chair. He inspects every corner of the envelope but can find nothing out of place. Carefully, he eases the flap free from the envelope. Once it’s free, he turns it over and lets the disk slide out into his hand.

He turns it over and over but there are no clues to be found, except the two words printed on the front: Miss Us?

Sherlock can’t imagine what Mary needs to convey that hadn’t been conveyed in the two prior disks. The postmortem notes are actually getting a bit cruel now. The constant reminder to John of his dead wife is a bit not good. Hopefully, this will be the last. Hopefully, they can let her be at peace.

After several minutes, Sherlock hauls himself to his feet, situates the television, and pops in the disk. He settles gingerly into his chair, waits for the disk to load, then presses play on the remote.

Static crackles for a moment before John’s face fills the screen. Sherlock presses pause as his heart beats wildly in his chest. Why would John send him a message like this? Did he know about the messages all along? No, impossible. He had seen John’s genuinely shocked and anguished face. So why?

Sherlock can’t find an answer that makes sense. He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply until he is no longer on the edge of hyperventilating. He presses play.

“Yeah. That’s about got it, I think.”

John’s face pulls back as he walks away from the camcorder. He’s situated it so that he can sit on the sofa and be in frame. John sits and clasps his hands on his lap. He looks nervous. After a few moments, he draws his shoulders back and looks directly into the lens.

“Sherlock.”

The very word sends a smile across John’s face. Sherlock doesn’t notice his own spine relaxing in response.

“Bit mean doing it like this, I know. Somehow it feels like closure, so I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Sherlock grabs a Rubik’s cube off the side table, just to have something to do with his hands. He twists the cube without looking. He’s not actually trying to solve it after all.

“God this is hard. Now that it comes to it. Listen, I’m not very good at this stuff, but there are some things that are too important to leave unsaid. I’ve made that mistake before and…”

John swallows heavily. Sherlock remembers the hug they’d shared in 221B recently. He wishes he could do it again now. John looks like he needs it. Sherlock’s not quite sure why John is sending him a copy of his love confession to his dead wife, but if this is what John needs, he will sit here and receive it. Of course he will. 

John’s attention has wandered around the room, but he pulls it back to the camera for this. It feels like he is looking directly into Sherlock’s eyes.

“I love you. Have done for quite some time now, maybe from the very beginning. I dunno. All I know is that I wasted so much time. Every day that I didn’t tell you was a waste. All that time we could have had, and I can never get it back.”

Sherlock feels tears welling in his eyes. John’s voice is full of pain and regret. Maybe watching this was a mistake. It seems intensely personal. But then, John had sent it him. His fingers slide the cubes harshly as he watches.

John blinks back tears and smiles at his own self-indulgence.

“What I’m trying to say is that I miss you. More than anything. I want things to be the way they were. I want us to be together, really together. I want to come home after a long day and find you there. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you breakfast and tea. I want you to teach Rosie ridiculous things I won’t agree with. I want to hear Bach again – don’t think I haven’t worked out what that means.”

Sherlock goes completely still. That’s wrong. Mary didn’t like classical music. She teased him about it all the time. But that would mean that John is not talking about Mary, which is equally impossible. His mind goes utterly blank and all Sherlock can do is stare at the television with a desperation he has kept locked away for so long that it pours out of him. He’s no longer in control.

John grows serious again now and the nerves come back. He rings his hands and looks off to the left of camera, like he can’t bear to watch Sherlock’s reaction. Which is ridiculous, he won’t be able to see any of Sherlock’s reactions. This is prerecorded.

“I understand if this isn’t something you want anymore. Or if it never was. I mean, it definitely felt like there were times where it could have happened, but then everything else happened and maybe we missed our chance? I’m not explaining this well. A lot has happened between us, maybe too much, but I still want this. That’s what I’m trying to say. I know that this – us – comes with a child now. Maybe that’s too much to ask. But I hope it’s not. Dear God, I hope it’s not because I will never love anyone else the way that I love you, Sherlock.”

The top two rows twist completely off the Rubik’s cube, and both pieces land on the ground. Sherlock barely hits the pause button before he is curling in on himself. His body is shaking and his lungs burn with the need to breathe more deeply. He rests his face against his drawn-up knees. He stays that way for several minutes, letting himself have this. A part of him is glad John isn’t here right now. It almost seems like a kindness.

John, John Watson, has just sent him a video recorded love confession. Sherlock Holmes has just been sent John’s love. John loves him and wants Sherlock to know. No matter how he says it, it doesn’t make any more sense to Sherlock. But he also cannot deny the proof of his own two eyes.

Look at the facts:

  1. John recorded the video. _Therefore, he is aware of its existence. This infuses it with intent. He had to set up a camera, record the video, and burn the disk. John is not particularly electronically savvy. It would have taken effort. It would have been hard. But he did it anyway._
  2. John sent him the video. _After all the effort it must have taken, John sent him the video. He chose to send it to Sherlock. He typed out the correct address, took the package to the post office, and mailed it to Sherlock. This means he wanted Sherlock to have it. He wanted Sherlock to watch it. He wanted Sherlock to see everything._
  3. John Watson loves him. _John said so himself, plain as day, in the video. Videos can of course be altered, but John sent this one himself. John is a loyal and true friend; he wouldn’t lie or embarrass Sherlock. This is not a cruel prank. Therefore, it must be the truth._
  4. Sherlock loves John. _This has always been true. Sherlock doesn’t even question it._



Conclusion: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes love one another and want to be together.

Sherlock unfolds himself enough to dig his mobile out of his pocket. He taps out a quick text and waits anxiously.

**Where are you? – SH**

The reply is almost immediate.

 **Bart’s. Everything alright?**

John knows the video was meant to arrive today. He’s checking in without giving everything away. Sherlock smiles at his big-hearted idiot.

**When will you be home? – SH**

He doesn’t even wait to see the reply. He sets about making a list of things that need to be done before John and Rosie arrive tonight. Maybe he will take Mrs. Hudson up on her cleaning offer. The flat will have to be reasonably clean with an infant rolling around on all surfaces. He’ll also need to go to the shops. John often reminds him that normal humans need constant feeding. At least, it feels constant. He wants John and Rosie to be happy here. He wants them to stay.

Miraculously, unbelievably, incredibly, unprecedentedly it seems that John wants that too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented. This fic was a labor of love for all of you. I will get around to answering all the wonderful comments, but executive disfunction and depression have been tough lately. Thanks for understanding. 
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr if you have fic requests, comments, or just want to scream into the void. I'm daringlydomestic on tumblr as well.


End file.
